


No path forward

by mickeymouseno1



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Day 2, Gallavich Week 2016, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:15:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeymouseno1/pseuds/mickeymouseno1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey thought he was finally free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No path forward

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2!!

Mickey drummed his fingers on his thigh. His eyes flickered between the front door and the microwave clock. Still 1:30, just like the last 30 times he’d looked. The TV was still on, some shitty shark-fest movie running. The sounds of bones crunching and people screaming had been turned down in volume, but Mickey wasn’t paying attention to it anyway. He looked at the clock again and it flickered, showing a new number. 1:31.

Looking down at his hand, Mickey realised that he’d unknowingly curled his fingers into a fist yet again. Clearly, he wasn’t built for this shit. He’d been waiting for 2 hours already. He took a deep breath in and exhaled, forcing himself to relax. His hand remained in a fist.

1:32

Another deep breath as he shook his head and switched the TV off, channelling his frustration into the remote.

1:33

He’d waited this long already. What was another minute?

1:34

As if realising that Mickey was on the verge of giving up, the front door rattled. Before he could react, it swung wide open revealing a very drunk Ian stumbling and struggling to find his balance.

“Mickey!” Ian yelled jubilantly and stumbled into the living room. “You’re awake!”

Mickey shook his head and stood up abruptly, scoffing when Ian nearly fell back into the table at the sudden movement.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

Ian’s face sobered slightly, as if he’d realised that he’d fucked up, before it transformed into a playful smirk that never failed to make Mickey’s stomach flutter. Right now, though, it quickly gave way to blind anger.

“It’s not funny, you asshole! I’ve been awake since 4am, and for what, for your drunk ass to come stumbling in at 2am in the morning?”

Ian cut off his rant by holding a finger up.

“What?”

“Well… it’s technically not 2 yet…”

“What the fuck ever. You’ve been back at the nightclub, haven’t you?” At Ian’s deer-in-headlights expression, Mickey persisted. “Don’t think I’m stupid. I know that you’ve been dumping a shitload of cash in our stash, and I _know_ where you’ve been getting it from, and I _know_ …”

Mickey paused, as he let the implications of what he was going to say wash over him before he continued.

“And I _know_ that you’ve been doing more than just shaking your ass in sparkly shorts to get that kind of money.”

Ian had fallen completely silent, his expression carefully neutral.

Mickey felt his hands curling into fists again.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Ian shifted uncomfortably and stared at his feet.

“Tell me I’m fucking wrong.”

Silence.

“Tell me, godammit!” Mickey lashed out, sending his fist into the wall next to Ian’s head. “Fuck!” His knuckles were covered in blood, but the pain wasn’t anywhere near the emotional pain he was feeling right now.

Ian had finally seemed to sober up, and tentatively examined Mickey’s hand, only to have Mickey flinch back.

“Just let me…”

“No,” Mickey growled. “Back the fuck off. You’ve done enough.” He stalked off to the kitchen, slamming the cupboard doors as he searched for the band aids. Of course though, the stupid redhead had to follow him.

“Please, Mickey, we needed the money!”

Mickey turned around sharply and slammed his uninjured fist on the table.

“We were doing just fine until your stupid ass decided to whore itself out!”

Ian recoiled. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

Mickey scoffed in reply. “Oh, _now_ you’re upset. Should’ve thought of that before you became a slut for some quick cash.”

Ian’s face set into a hard expression. “Don’t _fucking_ call me that.”

The two men glared at each other. It felt like an eternity had passed before Mickey finally decided he couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know what? I can’t do this anymore.”

Ian followed him as he quickly escaped the kitchen.

“What are you talking about?”

Mickey ignored him as he reached for a backpack and began blindly stuffing clothes into it. Fuck it, he could sort it out later. For now, he needed to get out of here.

“Mickey! What are you doing?”

Mickey continued to ignore the quickly sobering redhead and pushed past him to begin grabbing whatever he could get his hands on in the bathroom. He could feel his eyes stinging, but quickly rubbed at them before any tears could fall. When he’d sufficiently filled his backpack, Mickey stalked to the front door and fished for the key. Before he could reach for the handle, he found himself shoved into the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Mickey shoved back at him. “Get the fuck off me. I’m out. I’m not doing this anymore.” He gestured between them. “Waiting around for your ass to come home when you promise to come back at 11, and having to sit around knowing you’re off fucking some other twink for a few extra bucks. I can’t do it anymore?”

“It was just money! They don’t matter to me!”

“It matters to me!”

Ian fell quiet.

Mickey sniffed and rubbed at his eyes again. “Tell me… did you use a rubber?”

Ian didn’t respond.

“Fuck. I need to get out of here.”

“Mickey, wait!”

“I need to get out of here before I destroy this place and wreck your face with it!” Mickey shoved past Ian and ran out the door. Before he raced for the fire exit, he threw his key in the direction of what had once been his home.

“And I won’t be needing the fucking key anymore!”

As Mickey descended the stairwell with the stark realisation that there was no one running after him, he broke down and let the tears he’d been holding in run freely.

A year ago, he and Ian had moved to a new place they’d immediately called home. Surrounded by the haggard buildings and bloodshot skies, in trains that never stopped running, he’d felt like they’d also never stop being in love. But as he leaned against the wall of the stairwell, listening to the sounds of glasses clinking and toasts being made, hearing happy laughing people in the restaurant located straight below the apartment they’d once bought _together_ , Mickey felt colder and lonelier than ever.


End file.
